Pretty Burning
by xTamarax
Summary: Stray from the light. Make me fall from grace, if there ever was such a thing. Take me. Make me yours.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:I only own this. Besides, someone should really take away all my vampire books. Seriously.

Title: Pretty Burning.

Rating: R, perhaps NC-17 in the future.

Spoilers: Um, sort of AU. Hard to explain, just go with it

Warnings: This is way out of touch with reality and tends to dabble in darker themes and the supernatural. That's what makes it so fun. But please give it a shot anyways.

**Pretty Burning**

_**Chapter I: Honorable Mention for Self-Desecration**_

"_Welcome to my world, he said_

_Do you feel alive, he said,_

_It's all a bad dream spinning in your lonely head._

_Welcome to my world, he said_

_Separated world, _

_He said, separated_

_Down poison…"_

_- Down Poison- 3 Doors Down (all he is originally she)_

It should come as no surprise that there is something about him. Something to be said about Thomas Quincy. It's something you can't quite put your finger on, enigmatic, dominant, superfluous in all of his being. No matter who you are or how much you want to wipe the smug, arrogant constant smirk off his face.

He draws you in with his sugar sweet smile, pretty white teeth, piercing eyes that penetrate you, leaving you with thoughts the you should be pinned underneath him, screaming as he touches you in foreign place that your parents taught you are sacrilegious. Those images are always in your head, even if he's not around. Kind of like he's invading every worthwhile thought you've ever had.

He brings you up to let you fall. Over and over again. And that's when your realizes that there's something wrong with you because you let him revel in your pain, the pain that he causes, and you find yourself an purposely becoming an emotional masochist. Because he's Thomas Fucking Quincy.

He _is_ fucking gravity. Not _like_ gravity, but _is._

And you know from personal experience.

No matter how many late night conversations you have, endless platonic flirting, or just those afternoons where he drives you home in complete silence, as his calloused hand envelopes your tiny hand the has grasped the gear stick. His hand is forcefully guiding yours with the shift and you can't help but to fight back a gasp at the feel of his skin on yours and the cool leather seats of the blue Viper against the skin exposed on your lower back. And it's just his damn hand. Yet there's this aura of darkness, brooding that surrounds him and you can't desecrate it because it would feel like desecrating him.

It's that part of him that keeps him at a distance from you and frustrates you to no end because you can't crack him. But there is no other way. There is no other him. It's all a part of him. And you take what you can get. But you love it.

There is no right or wrong conclusion about Thomas Quincy, because you will never know which is right or which is wrong.

There's something primal, fierce, possessive and ethereal about him.

And it literally drives me to the brink of insanity because I can't undisguise him.

But it bothers me even more at how he can know me or how he can read me with just a glance.

He always knows.

You remember the first time you did it. And he knew. Without words.

No not that "it," but _it._

A lovely family portrait we all made.

Mommy and Daddy dearest were playing the epitome of perfect parents so well. They deserved that damn American Academy Award.

Broken glass, broken words, broken vows, broken home.

_Drift away to another place, another kind of life._

This time it wasn't about your dad's drinking and infidelity. It wasn't about your mother's ability to spend all of your families money and spend the night with a random stranger she would bring home on the nights your dad was "on a business trip." At least Daddy had the decency to not bring his call girls home. Point 1 for him. Mommy 0.

Well until you found the little white baggie in your Dad's liquor cabinet when you were trying to be a rebel and broke into it. Guess it was 1 to 1 now.

Nope it was about you. And what a whore their precious 16 year old daughter had become since winning Instant Star.

"_Just like your mother!" he had said._

Pretty little girls in grown up make up and stilettos on magazine covers.

What you wouldn't give to be six years old and be able to sit in the corner of your room as they fought. Small, fragile hands belonging to the pretty older blonde covered your eyes, as you wrapped your arms around your knees, rocking back and forth humming "Hush Little Baby," eyes shut tightly forgetting the saline tears that were still there. Drifting away, leaving them behind, just like your big sister had taught you.

This time there are no Snow Whites, paper punk dolls and saccharine lullabies. Just stark, harsh words.

You'd only done it once before, but you grabbed the bag you know it was hidden in, raced down the wooden stairs, and out the door. The engine revved and you flew towards a lesser version of hell.

You didn't want to cry, adamantly refused, praying to God you wouldn't feel anything.

But you stopped believing in him a long time ago, did you?

Judas.

It was all kind of a blur between parking and ending in the locked golden, overly gaudy bathroom with white, pearly marble and gold plated sinks. Darius should be shot.

I locked myself in Darius's private bathroom at G-Major. A shudder coursed through me and wondered why I had chose it. Then I remembered it would be the last place anyone would look for me.

I don't remember actually feeling it or doing it. I only remember letting go, and I was 6 years old again, locked safely in my room with my big sister and her Cinderella eyes and hair assuring me that we would be okay, even if it was only someday.

Not today, but someday.

No evidence of a self-desecration had been left behind. I had made sure of that. A black DC hoodie embraced my arms and stopped just below the waste of my school girl skirt, ornately and beautifully decorated with safety pins and chains.

I don't know how he knew but he did.

I hadn't even seen him coming.

I was heading into hospitality to sit, eat some Strawberry pop tarts, and write my sorrows away in brooding, emo girl songs.

God, what a damned cliché I've become. Shame, shame, Jude.

Next thing I know I had been slammed into the back of the door to Studio C, his hand locking the doorknob behind me. He was tense and seemingly angry, but he was always intense and unpredictable.

What the fuck had I done this time? I thought he was over the whole me telling him his Viper had been keyed and vandalized only to find "April Fool's" written in shoe polish.

He stared at me and I tried not to wince at his scrutiny. I could feel his eyes traveling on my body, like he was searching for something. My breathing started to become more ragged cause every time I looked at him, I wanted him too just plain out fuck me.

Good, little virginal Jude be damned.

And to be severely twisted, his anger turned me on even more.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I need some Seroquel and Lithium.

But I was getting severely annoyed with his silence.

Speak or act. It was that simple.

"Geez, Quincy. Kinda rough there don't you think? Besides you might want to be careful. As quick and hard as you grabbed me, threw me in here, slammed the door and locked it, one might think you're hurrying to hike up my skirt, drop my boy shorts, and screw me against the sound board," I warned playfully. I waited for some sort of reaction but got none. He remained composed and just continued looking at for …for whatever the hell he was looking at me for.

Something was different though. He started too look pained, but he remained stoic and cold. I can't explain it, and for the first time I was scared.

A force came at me and his body pinned me against the back of the door, and for some reason I had ended up on my tippy toes, cause my pelvic area to roughly meet his and I gasped. I swear I heard him growl, and something stirred inside me, in my stomach, spreading to my core.

We were in a very compromising position, his eyes locked mine and our noses almost touched. It was the prettiest blue I'd ever seen and I felt dizzy and lost. Lost inside of him. My heart was racing so hard I could feel my blood pulsing through me, every last drop and cell surging though me. Hypnotized is what I was, and he knew it cause I could almost feel his lips smirk wickedly against mine. I braced myself because I was sure he was going to devour my mouth with his.

But he's Tom Quincy.

An unwillingly whimper escaped from my lips as he tightly gripped my hooded, sore wrists with his strong, calloused hands and he squeezed lnot so lightly.

Fuck. It hurt worse than the razor did, burning as the cotton lint of the inside of the hoodie grinded against my almost closed wounds, stinging and opening them.

"_I can't stop or give it up. I need to feel the pain."_

His eyes met mine and I could feel him thinking of a million questions, insults, and holding contempt for me in his eyes. I felt shamed and naked in front of him.

I had been so far gone and wallowing in my self-pity that I hadn't even fully comprehended what I had done to myself.

I hadn't cared or thought about it at the time. Just acted and did what _felt_ right. I had felt nothing as the metal had penetrated my skin, because I was nothing and wanted to feel nothing. I made it feel like nothing.

Torn, and tattered, shards of my flesh. And it burned. I knew I was bleeding, even if only a little bit. It'd be a lie to say it was an unwelcome sensation.

I felt the tears in the back of my eyes. Tommy had distanced himself from me. I would have lost it if he had let go, but he still held my wrists. His grip had loosened a little, and I expected to him to turn away in disgust, but he managed to slide the cuffs of my hoodie up with just his fingers, and his fingertips grazed my bare flesh sending an electrical shock through me.

He looked at me with emotionless eyes, leaving once again left behind. Low, dark, and hollow.

God, I hated him.

I felt my arm slowly being raised and he brought my wrist to his lips, and I felt his lips graze the open flesh, his tongue skimming over the wound.

My eyes widened and fixated on him. This was not what I had been expecting. I couldn't think straight let alone speak. All I could do was moan at the feel of his lips and tongue on my skin, cleaning the wound.

My blood was on his lips and tongue. It should have disturbed me, but it was one of the most erotic sights I had ever seen. His beautiful, haunting eyes had this far away, glazed over look.

He broke the contact when I moaned once more. His head snapped up and he dropped my wrist, but his other hand still wrapped around my other wrist.

I swear I saw a look of guilt upon his face and hidden in his eyes. For what, I wasn't sure. I wanted to be inside his head, thinking his every thought.

"Tommy…" I whispered and he went from quiet and demure to angry, hardened, and bitter again.

Maybe he's the one that needs the meds, not me.

"Did you enjoy that, Jude? Did you enjoy feeling the razor cut your skin, the blood flowing freely through the wound?" he whispered harshly, degradingly in my ear, his hand once more squeezing my wrist, and this time I did cry. I just didn't fucking care anymore. I couldn't care anymore.

"Did you enjoy hurting yourself? Are you a masochist, Jude?" he finished mockingly.

"Fuck you, Quincy," I spat out through my tears.

He brought my arms up, his fingers entangled around my wrists between us, face to face again. For the first time in my life, I feared him. Not because he could emotionally damage me even further than he already has, but because I felt like for the first time I didn't really know him at all.

My head pounded with unanswered questions. I wanted them to stop so badly but they just wouldn't go away. Little birds humming in my head. Why did he toy with me? Did he mean to do it to me? Where did he go at night? What was really going on in his head when he laid his head to sleep at night? Did I mean anything to him? Why couldn't he let me in? Why couldn't I figure him out?

"How did you know?" I asked boldly and out of thin air. There was no way he could have seen me and I had never done it before. So there were no old pale, jagged scars. No healing wounds only to be left by a pale barely visible scar. No longed sleeved shirts everyday.

"Don't ever fucking do it again!" he growled, and he released me as if my touch had burned him, moving me out his way. He was gone just as fast as he had shoved me into the room, slamming the door behind him.

I shivered from the sudden lack of body heat, and pulled my cuffs down over my wrists and my hands curled into fists and gripped the edge of the cuffs in my fists. I threw my head back against the door and sank down to the floor.

I knew that I wouldn't ever do it again.

…_Down poison…_

**End Chapter I**

Thoughts anyone? Please let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except this story.

A/N: Thanks for reading and all the support. You'll never know how much it's appreciated. And I'm sorry for the huge delay. Life got in the way.

Pretty Burning.

Chapter 2:

You know how there are days when you wake up, wipe off your makeup from the previous day, and you slowly drag your limp body from your bed? You give a little yawn, and everything feels okay, a little like normal. And then you say today is probably going to be a good day?

Well today is definitely not going to be one of those days.

"Pretty boy, you better get those grubby, dirty little hands off of my pop tarts!" I yell, dramatically of course, and throw my hand on my hip, and glare just for good measure.

"Hello, Jude," he greets, not even looking like a little boy caught in a candy store. Except this time the candy is my pop tarts. No shame in the slightest. What a naughty boy! He knows better than to touch what's mine. "Aren't you looking just radiant, as always," he remarked in fashionable sarcasm.

He's also supposed to know that I'm the one supposed to respond with sarcasm. He's just supposed to stand there and look pretty, er I mean dumb, for lack of a better word.

I smiled sweetly. "Yeah, I know. A real Little-Miss-Mary-Sunshine, huh? Oops! Look at that. Silly me, I forgot to wear my pig tails and pink Mary Janes today," I retorted as I snatch the package out of his hands.

"Mine." Then I opened the package with my teeth.

"Damn, Jude. Wonder what else you can do with that mouth of yours?" he smirked at his own innuendo as he literally looked me over from head to toe.

I wanted to stab myself in the foot as I felt myself start to blush a little. I mean come on, I may not be an Eden wannabe, but I could appreciate a pretty piece of artwork.

Pretty.

I think that was what irked me about him. He was just so…pretty, nothing abstract. Though I would never admit that out loud to him, or a lot of people for that matter. Besides I was more attracted to the bad boy kind. Yeah he wanted to have a bad boy image, but he had the baby face for Christ's sake. Still, I wasn't entirely unattracted to him.

And who could deny that our love/hate banter kept me highly amused?

"What are you doing here anyways? Shouldn't you be off being an industry tool?" I asked monotone as I chewed a piece of my strawberry pop tart, and licked my lips, getting the frosting taste that had stuck too it. Mmmm. This was heaven.

"You know, Jude? I-" I jumped to stand dramatically in front of him and out a finger too his lips.

"Shhh. I didn't hear Darius say you could speak. You mustn't speak until King of Bling says so," I instructed him in my most royal voice my blue eyes gazing into his dark brown ones. His eyes danced with amusement, and I tried hard not to laugh.

I heard to door open behind me, and tried my best to move away before anyone could notice how close we were standing. But I was too slow, as he grabbed my hand and suddenly enveloped my finger in warmth. I felt his tongue graze my skin. A shiver went down my spine, as I was thrown into my thoughts of yesterday's "incident" with Tommy.

I felt as if he was watching me, hunting me down with those ice blue eyes of his. Damn, it wasn't enough that I couldn't sleep well thinking about him and yesterday. Now he had me day dreaming too.

I snapped out of my thoughts as he pulled his mouth away. I looked at him, my eyes dancing with questions, and he smiled.

"Yo, Little Tommy Q. Hungry?" he asked as he threw him the other pop tart in the box, and I froze. So he had been standing there and watching me. I wasn't just imaging things.

Tommy said nothing, and the foiled covered pastry fell to the floor. I said nothing either. He had played me. Asshole.

"Well, I have to get going. Got a video shoot with some fine ass girls. See you lata, shorty," he addressed me and he walked away before I could slap the shit out of him.

"Yes, go Shay, Shay! Go shoot your video, and don't forget to let the camera fall on your head. Because really, we don't need you whoring around and spreading all kinds of diseases to the Eden's of the world!" I yelled to his back, a disguised promise of revenge.

I looked at Tommy, and watched as he watched Shay walk away. His eyes had glazed over into something resembling a passionate anger, similar to last night but it was somehow so different. I didn't know much about the history of Shay and Tommy, just that they were once related. But his eyes told a much deeper, darker story.

Tommy's hands were clenched into white fists, and he stood tense, and staring long after Shay had left the room.

"Tommy?" my voice sounded so small, almost afraid too say anything.

He snapped out of his anger induced trance, and smiled almost shyly at me.

"Come on, girl. We have to go record," he said almost soothingly, his voice calming me and spilling through my veins like Lithium. I had forgotten about Shay, last night, and the cuts slowly healing on my arm. I had forgotten how bipolar he was, and how he always had me on edge, yet seemed to walk me away from it.

I just nodded, and vowed to figure out Thomas Quincy, or die trying.

a

a

a

a

I chewed on my bottom lip, as I placed the headphones over my ears, and welcomed the familiar sensation. I know it sounds weird, but somehow being in this booth, a glass wall between them and me, it's the most pure thing I know. Me against them.

I close my eyes, and imagine things as I want them to be, or I take everything that stays pent up inside, and let it go through my music, through the lyrics, through my voice, through the glass. Because on the other side they can't touch me. Well, unless they tell me to do it all over again, or they hate it. But even then I don't care.

I've said what I've needed to say.

And the only other person I give a damn about on the other side of that glass's name is Tom Quincy. Besides as frustrating as it is too hear Darius say that it flat out sucks, it's highly amusing to watch him go all bug eyes. Not to mention, what he says doesn't really matter. Well, it does because he pays me, but he has no idea what real music is. He did have the common sense to hire me though. I guess the guy is okay.

"You ready, Jude?" Tommy asks through the intercom, and I nodded. I catch a glimpse of Darius standing with his hands folded across his arms with a man I've never seen before. Darius is wearing one of his "you-better-do-this-right" looks mixed with a "she's the next big thing" smile, assumingly for the suit standing next to him. I rolled my eyes, and this is when I see Shay sitting in the corner furthest from Tommy. I groaned, and motioned for Tommy to start.

"_Long, lost words whisper slowly to me,"_

Whispered words jumble together in my head, and the eerie, haunting music soothes me, and replays the other night like a movie on repeat. You know, like that favorite scene of your favorite romantic movie that you rewind and rewind, and you imagine in your head that you're the in girl in the movie, as the hero presses his lips to yours, taking your pain and life into his.

_Jude_, it whispers too me. He whispers too me, stirring the silence in the dark. His voice beckons me. Calls me like he needs me.

"_Still can't find what keeps me here"_

_Love me. Break me. Fall into me. Never leave me. Never. _So strong are the words in the wind, and all the color of the leaves and earth blend into a bright oblivion in the dark of the night. He shines of glory in all of his darkness, faults, and perfect imperfections. The coldness of his skin is so numbing, that the air feels like fire, and I'm gasping for breath.

"_When all this time I've been so hallow inside, I know you're still there"_

_I'll never let go. You'll never leave. I'll never let you. _His words float like a humming melody, chilling and saving me from falling. The words are not empty promises, so passionate and dark, enticing. Pounding like a drum into my ears, pulsing through my veins, rushing all over is the blood river. I can hear it, louder and louder, the beating of my own heart pumping the crimson life through me. Pumping and flowing, pumping and flowing. Breathe in and out, in and out.

I can't stop it, don't want to stop it as the river overflows to the surface, every ounce of pain I've ever felt never existed, and the dark passion is there, replacing it, reviving me. The little blue birds sing, and the roses bloom as the sun slowly rises, a red dawn. I can breathe again.

"_Watching me, wanting me. I can feel you pull me down"_

The visions behind my closed eyes tear away at me, clawing at my heart, and lungs, which are trying rapidly to expand and fill with oxygen. I've been here before, seen it all before, it's all too familiar. My own separated world; a world that felt too comfortable. So dark is the feeling, but I'm not afraid. Preternatural and safe this world of mine. Panic starts creeping up as I feel myself losing reality and my eyes fling open, the words I'm singing spilling out like words on a paper journal, but I have no idea what I'm saying.

"_Fearing you, loving you"_

The prettiest, brightest blue crystals are looking at me through the glass. I realized why I felt so safe, familiar, and consumed with my separated world.

"_I won't let you pull me down…"_

The weight of my body pulls, and the oxygen is no longer filling my lungs. It's only a short fall from grace. Fade to black, and the world complies without hesitation.

a

a

a

a

"She's refusing to go to the hospital,"

"Did you expect anything less? This is Jude after all," Kwest pointed out turning in his chair to face the man before him.

"Is she okay?" he asks after a second, brotherly concern evident in his tone.

"Well, let's see. She nearly kicked Jamie in the mouth, yelled at Shay for 'staring at her rack like he was a ravenous carnivore and she was a piece of meat,' and now she's eating a pop tart as she lies on the couch with her combat boots still on," the reply comes with a hint of amusement and relief.

Kwest snorts, "That's our Jude. That girl is something else, I'll tell ya."

Tommy slips his hands to rest in his pockets, shifting uncomfortably already knowing where this conversation is headed.

"Yeah, she sure is," he whispers his reply.

"T, look man, I know-"

"Don't Kwest," Tommy snapped, his tone clipped with a warning. "I've already told you we're not going to have this conversation. _Ever._"

"I know, man,. Calm down. I was just going to say I know you care about her and wanted to ask if you know what happened in there?"

"Oh."

"Well, did she tell you what happened in there? Why did she pass out? Do you know anything?"

"No I don't know," Tommy answered without meeting his friends eyes and walked away without saying goodbye.

_Liar, Liar _he hummed to himself as he walked away from his best friend.

a

a

a

a

Fingers folded together, elbows propped up on the dark cherry mahogany desk, and lips barely brushed the edges of his index fingers. The seconds ticked away on the clock, ticking away _life_ one second at a time. Eyes danced behind shut eyelids, remembrance of the days earlier events lingered, and the night before. He swallowed hard at the notion of what was corresponding, the possibilities, and it's consequences.

And every time he tried to dream of something else, he dreamed of red hair, blue fire eyes, and an unspoiled innocence he had yet to taste, to touch, in a seeming eternity.

How?

What did it all mean?

He sighed heavily, and rubbed his temples, feeling how cool his own skin was, and how pale it seemed, even in the dark.

"You haven't eaten tonight," a statement, not a question, sounded through the air.

"No, I haven't," he muttered in reply with annoyance at the intrusion.

"You would have sensed me miles away if you had," his unwelcome companion pointed out.

"What do you want? What are you doing here?" he growled in frustration standing up out of his chair.

"You know why I'm here. You've been a naughty boy, invading the dreams of her" she clicked her tongue, and stalked towards him. "And naughty boys need punishment. Don't they, lover?" her voice permeated the air in tone that could have seduced the devil himself. She trailed her fingers up his arm, and brought them to rest on where a pulse should have been.

Tommy jerked away from her, and pushed her away. "Not tonight. Not tonight, Portia."

"Why?! Because I'm not your precious, virginal Jude?" She fired at him with distaste and anger, her eyes flashing and the darker side of her taking control. She found her spine connecting with the wall, the only source of support. Warm, strong hands laced around her neck, the whiteness of he anger shined brightly, and her danced with something between fear and anger.

"If you or any of them even _think _about touching or hurting her in any way, I promise you I will drain you dry, very slowly and it will be the most painful thing you've _ever_ felt," Tommy threatened, a promise of pain and murder if he was disobeyed. "Do not disobey me, Portia," he spat her name with disgust before letting her go and turning his back on her, dismissing her.

**End Chapter 2**

Well, is it still worth continuing? Please let me know. Hope you liked it.


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